Such A Perfect Surprise
by Wyndi
Summary: Steven gives thanks to God, who he believes has answered his prayers for some sort of a tangible relationship with Victoria.


Content: Mature subject matter, stalking, general creepiness (unless you're Eva, that is).  
  
Character/s: Steven Richards, Victoria (Lisa Marie Varon)  
  
Disclaimer: I own NO ONE depicted in these fics. I am not endorsed by any person, corporation, federation, promotion, etc., nor do I receive any monies for writing sick and twisted tales of their imagined goings-on. Inspired by "Gonna Get Close To You" by Queensryche. Lyrics used without permission. No infringement or disrespect to the various artisans is intended, so please don't sue me.  
  
* * *  
  
Hello, God? It's me, Steven. Do you remember when I asked You for a little progress with Victoria? Well, I just wanted to say thank You. Boy, when You go about making wishes come true, You don't just beat around the bush, do You? I should never have doubted Your abilities.  
  
Monday night was the manifestation of more fantasies than I could possibly have imagined. I mean, not only did she give me permission to call her Lisa Marie, but she actually told me, and this is a direct quote, "I really enjoy working with you, Steven. You're a really great guy and I'm glad we're getting to spend so much time together."   
  
How much more plainly could she have put it? She really DOES care about me. I've suspected it for some time now, but this is the proof I've been waiting for. I know what You're probably thinking. "It's nothing to get excited about," right? Well, if that's the case, then how do You explain how my face got thrust between her firm thighs later on in the match? That was all Your doing, wasn't it? It was a reward for my faithful devotion all these months. That's what I thought. You don't have to be so modest and humble, You know. She's certainly worth all the waiting and praying and wishing I've done.  
  
Has she said anything outright about taking our relationship to a more personal level? Well, no, not exactly. But she doesn't have to, does she? Her needs and wants are so clear to me. The way she smiles at me so fondly, the way she brushes my arm as she passes by on her way to the locker room, the way her fingers wind through my hair as we walk down the ramp together, the way she grips my earlobe in her teeth, tugging gently, insistently. These things and more speak volumes to me. I know the wishes of her heart.  
  
When I hear her footsteps in the corridor, I know she's near and my heart sticks in my throat and I can't breathe. I can always tell when she's moved through a room by the subtle hint of her perfume that lingers, long after she's gone. When we stay the night after a show, I make sure to stay at the hotel across the courtyard so that I can see her balcony from my room. I'm sure she knows I'm always near. How else could I show her the depths of my devotion and affection?   
  
Sometimes I'll call her room, just to hear her voice on the other end of the phone. I don't speak. There's no need. She knows everything I would ever need to say to her. We're connected on a higher level that most people couldn't even begin to comprehend. Why should I be forced to trivialize this bond we share by reducing my feelings to mere words?  
  
She stayed quite a while at the hotel bar tonight, talking to Shawn and Hunter. I know she didn't really want to be there. They were looking at her all night like she was just a piece of property there to amuse and entertain them. Just some trinket to be fought over. But she's already spoken for. In due time I may have to assert myself and show them the error of their ways.   
  
But not tonight.  
  
She stumbled slightly on her way out of the bar. Humoring them, I'm sure. Pretending that they'd gotten her tipsy. Don't they know that she's not some common sorority girl up for grabs to whomever buys her the most drinks? No. Not my Lisa Marie. It's all an act. She doesn't want to hurt their feelings, I know. And that consideration makes her even more lovely in my eyes.  
  
And as she dug through her handbag, looking for her room key, it was all I could do not to slip from the shadows and help her. Six or seven steps were all that separated me from her. Such a small space between the agony of separation and the ecstasy of physical contact. The sense of purpose I would feel, knowing I'd done something, anything to assist her.  
  
But this isn't the right night. The timing's all wrong. She's been tainted by prolonged contact with others. I must wait until she's taken her shower, when she's once again clean and shining and new, her raven locks falling damply around her face, her skin flushed from her exertions to rid herself of their touch.   
  
Only then I can be with her. As we were meant to be.  
  
There will be no fear, no alarm, no pain, and no shame for her when we finally become one being. Just the culmination of my own unworthy efforts to prove myself deserving of her. My heart's one true desire. How can such a pure love as mine be anything but good?   
  
I know what goes on backstage. I know they all call me names, ridicule my efforts, chalk it up to some foolish crush, tell me I'm wasting my time. But they're wrong. And when we finally consummate our love, they'll see just how mistaken they were. After all, You have already mapped out our destiny.  
  
And I'm close.  
  
So close. 


End file.
